


haunted by your ancient history

by doubtthestars



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Humor, Fate & Destiny, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Parallel Universes, Retirement, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: There's a couple of facts standing out starkly in his mind.1. Micha definitely had keys to the house. Philipp hadn't given a spare copy to anyone but Andreas.2. Micha was wearing a wedding band.3. Even if he hadn't hit his head or had some sort of mental breakdown, Micha was going to have to stay the night (or day, as the clock on his stove reminded him.)He poured out a generous measure of wine for both of them. Not entirely sure how the conversation would go and how much he would need to imbibe to process the fact that Micha now believed they lived together in some alternate reality.“Start from the beginning,” He mentally tacks on ‘again’.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louis_quatorze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louis_quatorze/gifts).



> _"Not what we experience, but how we perceive what we experience, determines our fate."_  
>  -Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach
> 
> A special thanks to Frauke, as the original idea was hers, I only tweaked it for my nefarious purposes.

A noise outside wakes him up. His instincts sharpen in the dark but his thoughts are still muddled with sleep. The worry prickling his senses goes up when he hears another thud from the direction of the front door. He opens the drawer of his nightstand slowly, blindly grabbing the flashlight he knew was stashed there in case of a power outage or a burglary, which seemed to be the case currently. His bare feet were soundless as he crept out of his room and into the hallway to the stairs.

He could definitely hear the intruder now, inside his house, muttering to himself about batteries and keys. Philipp avoided the third step that creaked and held his breath before turning on the flashlight in hopes of startling the man in the foyer.

His hopes were turned on him when instead of discovering some masked man looking for something to steal, he saw Michael Ballack with an expensive looking carry on bag over his shoulder and a hand shielding his eyes from the powerful light that flickered in intervals. Confusion bloomed onto Michael's face in stop motion.

"What are you doing up?" He asks bizarrely, like Philipp was the one in the wrong.

He's not entirely sure that he is awake and dreaming of Micha coming to rob him.

"Isn't it a little late for you to get revenge over the World Cup?" Talking was difficult, like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. Several questions ran through his mind as he switched off the flashlight and flicked on the lights at the top of the stairs.

"Revenge? What are you talking about? I was trying to be quiet but your bat ears must have woken you up. My phone battery died in the car or I would've warned you I took an earlier flight." Michael is infuriatingly calm for someone who was trespassing.

Philipp didn't move from the top of the stairs. His grip still solid on the flashlight. Had Micha hit his head? He was acting like this little visit was pre-planned and Philipp wasn't even sure he was aware that he had been in the country. Basti would have told him right? His thoughts dubiously supplied.

"Micha, what are you doing in my house?" He gives up trying to figure out a reasonable explanation. It was much faster just to get an answer out of his former captain and teammate.

Michael raises an eyebrow, "Because I live here, Philipp. You're not usually this foggy in the mornings."

He wants to point out when on earth would Micha have ever learned that about him. It wasn't even morning-the sun wasn't out and he was very aware of his faculties-until the statement actually hit him. Philipp rubbed his forehead and clenched his jaw. He was going to kill whomever set this up.

"Is this a joke?" He expects Micha to burst into laughter, maybe Poldi to emerge from the living room with his camera phone up, saying 'Got ya!' but all he gets an oddly concerned look from the other man. It is well beyond his imagination to dream this up, so Philipp does the only thing he can and walks down to pour himself a drink and get to the bottom of this.

-

They sit at the kitchen island, Philipp in the t-shirt and shorts he slept in and Micha in a suit and tie that he immediately loosened when he saw Philipp with two heavy glasses and a bottle he hid in the closet. It wasn't like Claudia didn't know it was there. He just hadn't opened it or pulled it out of the box since it had arrived with an oddly expressive and sincere note from Pep on his retirement from Bayern.

"Don't you think it's odd that Mourinho and Guardiola share the same taste in wine?" Micha shakes off his suit jacket to drape it over the back of his chair. Philipp vaguely wonders where Micha is coming from dressed so formally and if he had somehow developed mind-reading powers because he definitely hadn't told Bastian or Thomas about the wine.

He thinks something inane about Micha's arms to test him but doesn't get a reaction.

Micha pulls some crumpled paper out of his pocket and manages to find the trash easily despite never having been in Philipp's house. There's a couple of facts standing starkly in his mind.

1\. Micha definitely had keys to the house. Philipp hadn't given a spare copy to anyone but Andreas.

2\. Micha was wearing a wedding band.

3\. Even if he hadn't hit his head or had some sort of mental breakdown, Micha was going to have to stay the night (or day, as the clock on his stove reminded him.)

He poured out a generous measure of wine for both of them. Not entirely sure how the conversation would go and how much he would need to imbibe to process the fact that Micha now believed they lived together in some alternate reality.

“Start from the beginning,” He mentally tacks on ‘again’. 

Micha takes a sip of wine, makes a face, and takes another mouthful. The ring on his finger catches the overhead light, a contrast to the marble of the countertop. Philipp blinks slowly. His mouth pinches in distress. The story had no basis in reality unless he wanted to unpack years of stilted conversations and handshakes through the lens of something this Micha had successfully converted into an unbelievable story. And, perhaps, that was the problem, Philipp couldn’t believe that Micha and him were destined for anything other than cordial smiles and a fractured friendship tempered by distance. 

He could never regret standing up to take the armband but maybe, he regretted the way it shaped things afterward with Micha.

“I’m not very good at telling it on my own. Usually I have you to fill in the blanks.” Micha twists the ring on his finger ruefully. It’s distracting to catalogue the differences between the Micha he knows and this copy that talks without a fixed smile and a guarded expression. Philipp massages his temples, trying to focus on the present.

“Just try your best,” it comes out more gruffly than he aimed for but Philipp avoids the wine for now. 

“It was before the World Cup at home. You were already back at Bayern, still rehabilitating. A couple of us went out for drinks. Somehow, someone managed to convince you.” Philipp swallows hard, fighting against the sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“You weren’t much of a drinker,” Micha nods to his glass with an openly fond smile, and Philipp’s lungs seize as his mind keeps wandering between wanting to laugh uncontrollably at this bizarro world doppelganger of Micha and the burning curiousity of what his counterpart is like, how he handles this easy affection Philipp only ever saw in glimpses during the early years and mostly with Torsten. 

“But you stayed anyway, and we got to talking. Mostly about the matches and Magath. I think the rest of them thought we were insane or obsessed to bring football into our free time as well. Those arguments probably helped me refine my skills as a pundit,” He shrugs as an afterthought, getting into the story by looking past him. “We started staying in to watch games and dissect them in real time. Basti would come over to steal food. Bixente and some of the others tried to make it into a movie night. Kahn never came over unless we played cards.” 

Philipp conjured the image easily because it _had_ happened. Only it hadn’t been their idea to start it. Bayern wasn’t always as tight-knit as it was in the recent past, but those years had laid down the foundation, had opened his eyes to a different dynamic that could lead to a brilliant Bayern. 

Micha hadn’t been involved, already vaguely distant in the way that signified his time with the team was coming to an end. His gaze was on different shores and Philipp knew what he wanted back then was to stay at Bayern, to reach his potential on home soil. It had been the start of a fissure, a feeling that they were two different people who would never meet eye to eye.

Holding up a hand, he makes Michael pause in his recounting, “Did you have Simone? Your kids?” 

Micha blinks, rubbing his hand to the side of his jaw covered with stubble. Philipp finally sees something he can recognize, some emotion he can parse through the confidence and contentment that had never quite settled on the Micha of this world. He had taken him by surprise with the mention of children. 

“We broke up in 2005.” Another difference. “I didn’t have--I don’t have children.” A pang of regret or guilt wells up inside of Philipp. Julian didn’t exist in that universe then.

“You married her here, three boys. The last was born here, in Munich.” He adds quietly. His eyes dropping down to the counter. The sick feeling in his stomach doesn’t die down. Some part of his mind accepts the strange tale as truth and Philipp is grappling with the implications. Up to this moment, he was doubtful, wishing or hoping he could catch Michael in an elaborate lie. But he would never blink out of existence children, whole lives lived with families for a fantasy. 

“I don’t understand. We hardly played together that season. Your contract was up and you left for Chelsea. How did you and him change things so drastically in a year?” He pushed the glass to the side to do something with his hands, the excess energy of frustration.

“I gave an interview, it was a few days after your birthday. We had an argument about it actually.”

_The gathering was bigger than what he had thought Philipp would agree with for his birthday celebration. No doubt someone had invited their fair share of teammates from both the national team and Bayern, even some from Stuttgart. Philipp had been forced into a party hat and a chair while the rest plied him with drinks._

_Micha had been late. His friday afternoon swallowed up with engagements he had somehow forgotten. His present had been wrapped up months earlier, a sweater he knew Philipp would never buy for himself because of the price but would appreciate for the quality. He had bought it on a whim, out shopping for himself._

_“Where should I put this?” He yelled over the awful music. An already drunk Claudio pointed to the coffee table that had been shoved to the side for more space to put up chairs. He saw some envelopes and boxes sloppily wrapped in ridiculous patterns. There was definitely one with christmas elves dancing on it. He shakes his head, hiding his present behind someone’s fluorescent gift bag._

_It was around two hours of serenading and bad dancing before the majority of the party moved on to a different location to continue the revelry and leave Philipp to his own devices. It was also the only time Micha had a moment alone with him. Andreas kicking Bastian and Lukas out with the garbage. Brazzo had volunteered to help with cleanup and Micha hovered awkwardly in the kitchen as Philipp got water out of a pitcher._

_“I bet you won’t miss this.” Philipp gestured lazily to the side, staring with dark eyes in the poor light. Micha’s eyes darted to the entrance as if he expected someone to be listening. He rolled up the sleeves to his button-down, unsure where this line of conversation was headed, but Philipp looked stubborn enough to block the exit._

_“I sure won’t miss the braying once you get a couple of glasses in them.” He responded lightly, throwing an errant fork into the sink._

_“Why not Italy?” His tone is casual, but the line of his shoulders is rigid. Michael sighs, not meeting his eyes, not wanting to get into the topic of transfers and rumours._

_“I don’t know yet. I’m more concerned about the World Cup.” He tries to dismiss it, change the topic to safer waters. He didn’t doubt Philipp would be called up and starting alongside him on the national team._

_Philipp scoffs._

_“I’m not going to sell the story to anyone. You don’t have to spare me the ugly details. I know you’re unhappy here.” Micha is left with the rug pulled from under his feet. The thread of harsh anger weaving into Philipp’s words taking him by surprise. He didn’t expect to feel guilty for making a decision that still hadn’t been finalized. A rising anger balled his fists to match Philipp’s._

_“Yes, I’m unhappy getting criticized by Kalle and Uli. I’m unhappy with my situation and I want **more**.” He barely stops himself from yelling. Yelling will never get through to Philipp he knows. He only goes colder, waiting to strike with a well-placed word to have the last laugh._

_Michael runs a hand through his dark hair, throat in a knot. Going to Chelsea isn’t running away. It’s gaining new ground._

_Philipp’s breathing picks up, the sound echoing in the tiny kitchen. He doesn’t hear the others, doesn’t think they would stick around to hear a shouting match between them. Michael would think it ironic if he wasn’t involved in the argument. Another story for the tabloids: fight breaks out after birthday bash at bayern. is the bundesliga giant self-imploding?_

_“Good luck then, finding your happiness.” It comes out stilted but honest. Michael doesn’t need to read between the lines._

_The fight leaves him, his shoulders hunching in defensively, like a cornered animal._

_“Alright, Fips, good night.” He sighs out._

“Doesn't seem like a prosperous beginning.” Philipp points out dryly. Michael doesn’t go for his ring, instead picks up his wine and raises the glass in a toast.

“Never said we weren’t idiots about it. It was an excruciatingly long process to get our heads out of our asses,” The corner of his lips lifts up slightly, “The interview made you furious. I said something about being certain where I wanted to end my career and that I’m leaving my heart with Bayern.” Those words vaguely rang a bell in Philipp’s long memory. He thought they were empty platitudes at the time. 

“ _I_ would’ve been furious.” He mutters to himself, the importance of distinguishing himself from his alternate counterpart. 

“Lukas came out when he was at Arsenal.” Michael drinks down half the glass. 

Philipp rubbed the corner of his eye, exhaustion catching up with him but shock dipping his nerves in ice water keeps him on his feet. He slowly wraps his head around the concept of Lukas, his Lukas, the perennial jokester coming out to the public.

He picks up the glass steadily to put it to his lips, and swallows the dry wine down until he thinks he’s capable of speech.

“Bisexual?” Micha nods. Good, he thinks. Captain’s intuition was good for something after all. 

“Is he okay?” His throat burns, intellectually he knows it shouldn’t be his first question when faced with the knowledge of that Lukas confirming a long-held suspicion but Philipp can’t help it. Ten years of friendship, of working together as a team outweighed whatever private matters he kept to himself, as long as the outcome had been better than he feared.

“My Philipp asked him the same thing when he got the news.” He shuts his eyes for a moment, dizzy with lack of sleep and a skipping record in his head, repeating the words: _My Philipp_. 

This Michael, the one that was probably asleep somewhere in London never called him Philipp unless he was in front of a camera. It was a rarity he never expected, more comfortable with Lahm, or whatever title he was shouldering that day in the news. 

He had avoided watching his coverage of the cup and the euros. English was awkward for Philipp, not deft enough to explain what he wanted in his own tongue. Once, Andre had been watching the semifinal on the plane laughing along with Lalas and Philipp didn’t need subtitles to know Micha painted him with the same stroke of the brush as everyone on the team. Germany had done this or that right. Germany had no face, had no captain, just a team of leaders, a team of victors.

“He didn’t go to Turkey then?” Philipp cuts him off abruptly, trying to curb his thoughts from going down to memories he didn’t want to rehash.

“No, they loaned him out and he bounced around for a while before signing with MLS.” Philipp shakes his head, that would make sense. Robbie Rogers had come out of retirement to go back to LA Galaxy without much harm. 

“Who else?” He didn’t want to outright ask him what their public status was, even with the wedding ring mocking him. There was a shrewd look in Micha’s eye though, when he finally looked up to him.

“Xabi Alonso, and Gerrard said something to the effect but Carragher got involved and ended up punching a reporter. The Sun printed a bunch of lies and hearsay. Liverpool got ugly and there were several protests across the country about the whole thing. Dybala came out as agender, or genderfluid? I always mix them up.” He shrugs apologetically, “Wellenreuther came out as gay and helped Schalke get the league so he’s a saint in their eyes anyway.” 

Philipp scratched his head. He didn’t think there had been that much substance to the Gerrard and Alonso rumors. 

“And you? Or me?” He asks tiredly.

Michael grimaces, “There were pictures. My agent, he tipped them off and I left the tournament to lessen the damage but Christian got involved because-” 

“You had an affair with Dani?” Michael leans back in his chair, startled at the interruption. He gapes for a second, wide blue eyes meeting his.

“No,” he clears his throat. “No, I found Bastian, on the phone, frantic when we were still in the qualifiers. He told me that Dani was in trouble. I started keeping tabs on her as a go between for Basti, but we got caught. Christian insisted on talking to any media outlet that wanted to listen, making snide comments about my character and how real men should act.” Philipp drummed his fingers on the counter, wildly going through everything he knew to be true that was suddenly turned on its head.

“Bastian never told me this. We fought about the captaincy. Your agent accused the whole team of being homosexuals. I said--I said,” He had agreed in part with Christian’s accusations and the whole world’s perception of Micha being too old and too out of touch with the younger players. 

“You wanted it more. You said you would fight for it if Jogi didn’t think you capable, but he did and I agreed. We were celebrating that when they got those pictures.” He sighed. 

Philipp felt faint. Michael reached out with a hand, asking for permission before barely laying his fingers on top of his own.

“We were sitting across from each other like this, finishing dinner. I didn’t think hand-holding would cause such a commotion.” He slid his hand away and shook it out, nerveless under the counter, in his lap. A dark corner of his mind unfolded itself, dusty and unused. Philipp at twenty-two could barely meet his captain’s eyes. 

Philipp at twenty-two could admit in certain light, with the adrenaline of a match still streaming through him that Michael was handsome but more importantly, would listen to their hopes and dreams, and do his best to fulfill them on the international stage.

They had gone out to Italy and Philipp learned to share the blame and burden. The nation still applauding them for the effort. 

Philipp at twenty-six watched Michael fall from grace and hoisted himself up from unassuming to significant and steady.

At twenty-six, he understood fairy tales only belonged in books. Reality was much harder to swallow. He had dug deep into himself for resolve, certain that if he couldn’t get this team, his team to achieve greatness than he had no one to blame besides himself. 

“Bayern stepped in before it could become a full-blown scandal,” Micha continued his story.

_”’Dinner and a contract?’ They really couldn’t come up with something better than that?” The published pictures had become a controlled leak and Bayern had come armed to the teeth to protect one of their most valuable assets. Philipp wasn’t surprised at the vicious stomping out of fires by the PR branch, but was surprised he hadn’t been interrogated as soon as he had touched down on tarmac._

_“You’re mad at the headline? It’s BILD. They were probably too busy salivating over Bayern doing what it does best and handing over the pictures with careful instructions to follow on penalty of getting burned out of the business.” Michael rolled his eyes as he threw himself onto the couch, immediately grabbing hold of Philipp’s hand._

_“Try not to let the admiration of their ruthlessness get to your head. We’re lucky you had already negotiated with them. Could you imagine yourself in the same room as Messi. You would eat him alive. They could’ve gone with the captains angle. Past, Present, Future awaits at Bayern?” Philipp sent him a dubious look at the weak imaginary headline._

_“I know you had to leave before the airplane turned into a pumpkin,” he retorted still unforgiving at Micha’s quick retreat. “But I did have to play against him and he was surprisingly left intact. I don’t have a gift with languages. They could still kick us both out in 2012.”  
Micha rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, “I’m sorry.”_

_“I’m not,” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the words are steel in his mouth. “It’s an open secret with the national team. A careless slip would’ve landed us in the same predicament. History is written by the victors, so we’ll have to make sure we’re victorious.” The matter of fact tone couldn’t be argued against and Michael could believe anything Philipp said with the same conviction. If Bayern wanted wins, they would get them._

“You came back?” Philipp could taste the sour grapes leftover from the wine on his tongue. His stomach churned, head swimming.

“I came back,” Michael reaffirms. 

He doesn’t shake as he rubs a hand over his face but it’s a near thing. Philipp had reached his limit for the night. 

“I need to sleep, and I’m sure you’re tired as well.” He glances at the clock, standing up unsteadily after sitting for so long, supporting his weight by bracing his arms on the marble top. Michael looked ready to intervene until Philipp took a deep breath. 

“The guest room is the second door on the left.” He doesn’t look for a reaction but still somehow senses the concern directed towards him. Michael’s chair scrapes the floor but there aren’t any footsteps just yet.

“Erm, and Claudia?” He delicately phrases. 

“She took Julian to her parents for the weekend.” His voice cracks, uncertain on how to move forward, how to handle this if he woke up tomorrow with some phantasm of an unlived life still in his house. What if this Michael couldn’t get back to where he belonged. What if somewhere out there, was his own doppelganger explaining his situation to a stranger with a familiar face. It startles a laugh out of him. He squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of exhaustion. 

“Good night,” He waves him out with a hand, not feeling strong enough to see him out. Michael’s feet reach carpet before he returns the words.

“Good night, Philipp.” too soft to belong between his panicked thoughts.

He waits in his kitchen until he’s certain Michael is in the guest room, counting his breaths as the first peeks of sunlight came over the horizon.

Philipp goes up the stairs numbly. Sleep evading him until he could no longer stare up at the ceiling blindly, all the bits of information and history he had heard shaking him to the core. 

-

He wakes up with a start. 

Taking his time, Philipp busies himself with a shower, checking his emails, staring at his phone mindlessly counting the minutes as they passed, wondering if he should call Claudia to check in. When he finally steps out of his bedroom, ready to face the day, his first thought is to check the guest room. The suitcase is opened on the floor, the sheets rumpled and there’s a foreign scent clinging to the room that Philipp doesn’t want to examine closely.

There had been enough life-altering revelations last night. 

He headed down to the kitchen. The dining table set up with a light meal. Coffee had already been poured out. He took the mug with him to investigate where Michael was. It didn’t take him long to find the other man in the living room, looking at the painting Claudia had put up when they had moved in.

Round two, he mentally prepared himself, not sure if he would ever get used to seeing Michael so comfortable in his surroundings, _in his home_.

“Is it wrong that I was hoping you were a wine-induced dream?” Philipp takes a sip of the coffee, made just as he takes it. He shouldn’t be surprised.

Michael chuckles, but doesn’t turn around, still examining the wall portrait. 

“No, I thought the same when I woke up this morning. Our guest room is the one across from where I slept. It’s strange being here, without it really being mine.” He waves a hand at the wall. Philipp shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek, keeping himself in check.

It was already exhausting to think about.

“How are you so calm about this?” He moves back before he does something stupid like reaching out to touch this copy of Micha. He sits down on the loveseat.

“I’m not, but I had a strange conversation with a woman boarding the plane. It didn’t make much sense at first. She just seemed to be rambling about missed chances, how the world would look differently if we all took the chances we hadn’t. I thought she was senile.” Michael sat down on the couch, feet bare under a pair of sweatpants. 

“So what, you’re here because of magic?” Philipp hazards, his eyes darting up from the strange vulnerability of bare feet, of the picture Micha made, soft hair and comfortable clothes. 

“No,” he smiles at him and Philipp wonders how many that is since he arrived, the flutter in his chest and the subsequent let-down when he thinks back at the handful of functions they had crossed paths in, how many smiles he could count directed his way from the Michael he knows.

“I got to thinking, what a terribly lucky person I was. Who would I be if I hadn’t chosen the paths I did. Who would I be without you and even further, what would have happened if that hypothetical Michael kept that secret under lock and key, kept being a pretender. Football had always come at a price, even as a boy I knew, to leave _Chemnitz_ it would take a reinvention of self. Simone had figured it out, Torsten had as well, so I wondered, how long would it be until the world could crack the code as well. 

What a miserable man he would be, that Michael, always walking on eggshells, never working through that rage, the suffocation of knowing you are not wanted as yourself, only as a character. And I knew, could picture it easily but I could not divine what you would do, who you would be. Philipp without Micha,” He took a breath.

“Not that I doubted you would be happy. I had always been under the impression, even with our history that you could walk away much more easily than I could from us. So, maybe, I’m here for you. I end up with Simone and you end up with Claudia, but you can’t stand to stare at **me** for too long but you also seem so surprised by the smallest things, like the version of Michael Ballack here would never step inside this house.” 

Philipp swallows down the knot in his throat, feeling the white-knuckled grip on his mug as he came back into his body, aware of his speeding heartbeat. 

“The ring,” He asks, choking on the certainty that it matched his own wedding band. He had tried to ignore it, a simple silver band was common enough but his gut rebelled at chalking it up to coincidence. 

“We won the Champions League together.” 

_It felt like the world was laughing at him in some way. Breaking his champions league curse with Bayern only to end up facing off his old team for the final. Thomas had scored but Drogba had quickly dashed their high spirits within five minutes. His 18 month contract would be up as the season ended and he knew he wouldn’t get another chance at the trophy if they lost this._

_They fought to penalties Ribery was out and Arjen had already missed a penalty. There was a bit of a shuffle in order, Manuel volunteering to the surprise of everyone. Cech didn’t intimidate him, he seemed to say, squaring his shoulders. The noise was deafening in the stadium. They were at home and they had come this far._

_Penalties wouldn’t rob them of glory._

_Philipp stepped up first, going left and Cech guessed correctly but wasn’t able to block it. A nervy start for all of them. Mata’s shot was saved by Manuel but they kept their heads cool, watching, knowing all it took was a moment for the tides to change. Mario went for the bottom right. David Luiz ran up successfully. Petr went the right way but Manuel still managed to slot the ball at the left corner. He smiled to himself before facing off Lampard._

_Michael’s nerves settled flat down his spine as he stared down the ball. This was crucial. The fourth kick, they were up by one. He steps away, gearing up from the left, stopping for barely a second, before a one-two step and smashing it to the middle as Cech dove to his left. He pumped his fist to the roaring crowd and walked back to the team line. Cole got his in._

_Basti went up and Michael’s heart stopped as he saw Petr’s fingertips push it out._

_Drogba sent Manuel the wrong way (4-4). Philipp was shielding Basti as he wiped away tears. Micha locked eyes with Toni, nodding. They could still do it. It wasn’t the end of the world quite yet, wasn’t the end of the line until there was a victor._

_Toni to the left(5-4), Cahill misses, Nils misses, Torres makes him wince (5-5) Robben goes up and redeems himself (6-5), Kalou rockets it over the bar and they can almost see the light at the end._

_Van Buyten to the right of Cech (7-5) Sturridge to the top corner (7-6) Rafinha looks up to the sky before cooly burying the ball. Manuel is the first one to reach the defender, lifting his up in a hug. Bastian drops to his knees. Michael finds Philipp flushed with adrenaline and smiling widely into a hug from Thomas._

_He ruffled Thomas hair in passing before gathering Philipp in a hug, bending to rest his head into his neck. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he stops. The buzzing atmosphere, the singing crowd, and staring into Philipp’s eyes makes him realize he can finally let go of the beautiful game if he had him by his side._

_Bayern offered him an extension, and Michael cheerfully told them thanks but no thanks. He had a job lined up with ESPN to cover the Euro and Oliver had always told him to put his good looks to better use and get in show business._

“So we didn’t win the treble.” Philipp felt less composed than he sounded, gripping his coffee mug like a lifeline. 

“Oh no, you did, I didn’t. I retired and you went on to make Bayern the first team to win the Champions League back to back. I think you wanted to rub it in the higher-ups faces that you were an invaluable and indispensible piece of the team. Basti snuck in a Ballack jersey and threw it in your face before stealing the cup to practice his kissing technique. There was a minor resurgence of rumors but you’re very capable of ruining the media’s dreams by holding all the cards very close to your chest. Besides the transfer drama took their minds off of it.” 

“You still haven’t answered my question.” A loud beep interrupted the conversation. Michael stood up, looking in the direction of the kitchen, bewildered. He held up a finger before legging it to the kitchen. Philipp’s stomach reminded him he’d been nursing his coffee for much too long without food. 

He followed to see Michael staring at what was probably his cell phone. 

“I left it charging, but I don’t understand how it can possibly be working.” His eyebrows furrowed as he tapped on the screen, opening what looked like an email.

“What was the notification?” He got closer. 

“An email about my return flight. I think, this is my way back home.” Michael says slowly sounding out the logic, however little there may be in the situation. 

“I’m going to assume you didn’t schedule it then?” Michael shakes his head. 

“Not unless it’s a month early. I didn’t mean to somehow fall into an alternate universe by plane either so at least, I didn’t have to find my own way back. But I owe you an answer. Here,” He pulled off his ring, and handed it to Philipp. 

It was a solid weight, warm and heavy in his palm, but the inscription wasn’t what he expected.

“After the World Cup?” He gave it back.

“We had a good feeling about it. I proposed before then, you bought the rings, but we had to cover all of our bases. Lalas wanted to throw me a bachelor party in Brazil. I told him only if we made it to the final.” He rolled his eyes like Lalas had kept his word and threw him a party that was as ridiculous as he could imagine coming from Alexi. 

The other Philipp had been certain it would be his last tournament as well then. The toast and fruit salad settled his stomach. It was smart to wait after the World Cup. Nobody could point to distractions or make untoward comments, especially by winning it. They couldn’t find fault in Philipp as a player, even if they wanted to. 

“We didn’t release an official statement or anything. We didn’t owe anything to the public. I was retired and you only had a few more years left with Bayern. Our private lives were finally ours to be private. We had the ceremony here, and went on vacation to Portugal.” 

They went back to the living room. Philipp still maintaining a healthy distance.

“And you’re happy?” The sudden urge to know at least one of the infinite amount of Michaels in the universe had to be was important. For all their stubborn faults in this life, he knew _his_ Michael could have had more even if he wasn’t necessarily part of it. The similarities were too strong to ignore, made too much sense to not have some inkling of truth here as well. 

“Yes, I can’t imagine myself happier. It isn’t easy, but the work, growing alongside each other is worth it. We can still butt heads but at the end of the day, we won’t leave each other in the dark with the problem.” Philipp shivers, Michael had unintentionally echoed his own sentiments when Bastian had asked him for his opinion on marrying Ana. 

“Now what? You go on your way and what do I do with this. You satisfied your curiousity but what can I do?” Michael shrugs, looking at him with unreadable eyes.

“What do you want to do?” He couldn’t go to Micha. He couldn’t go to anyone with such a story. 

“I assume big world events are still the same, trying to send people to Mars, the solar panel craze. It would be stupid to think we were the only ones, the only versions of ourselves out there. I’m sure one of you has been appointed chancellor by now. You don’t have to **do** anything with what you know. Whatever mysterious force brought us together wanted us to take something away from this, _to learn_ from this.

So what did you learn?” He puts his hands in his lap, leaning forward slightly. 

“Bayern is ridiculously good at their job.” Michael smiles like he’s trying not to laugh at the sarcastic answer. It gives him time to think. 

“I don’t believe in soulmates.” That does make Michael laugh. 

“Neither does my Philipp. It’s not about who you end up with. It’s about you. Why did I show up at your doorstep, why now? What are you looking for an answer? You don’t have to tell me. I know what I got out of this. We may have the same house, the same beginnings but what I have,” He taps his ring, “is singular. Even if I could go back in time, I would end up in the same place. Just like you would end up here in this house with Claudia and Julian. The past is fixed by the choices you make not by the people in it.” 

Philipp’s eyebrows knit together, opening his mouth to answer, to argue. It's a familiar urge.

“The people are important. I may not have ended up with Micha but he’s still important.” 

Michael raises an eyebrow but doesn’t offer a counter-argument.

“You- _He_ didn’t end up going to the party. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t come back. But he wasn’t missing--there isn’t a Michael-shaped hole in my life--” He loses steam, trailing off. How much of his life was influenced by one moment, one choice. 

His choice to lead or Jogi’s choice to let him or Michael’s choice to leave. 

Philipp turned the thought around and around again, like holding the match ball before the game started. 

He suddenly couldn’t remember if Michael had left before or after the interview. Had he been caught unawares or did he leave fuming. Oliver had practically eviscerated him when he had to do damage control. At the time, it had felt like the right choice. The best decision for the team, but how much did it truly change? 

The next year, he had been appointed Bayern’s captain, the year after that had been the loss to Chelsea, the year after the treble. 

He went to Michael’s farewell match in high spirits, confident. He played alongside him without the past being drudged up. It hadn’t been 2006 but it wasn’t cold, wasn’t fraught with unspoken accusations. Michael **was** happy. 

So why wasn’t he done with this story? 

“I believe you.” He utters uselessly to Michael’s confusion. Not a mind-reader after all.

“If anyone else had come through that door, telling me this wild story about me and you...I wouldn’t have believed them. It could’ve come out of an alternate-Claudia and I still wouldn’t have believed her. So it had to be you.” There’s a niggling kernel of being on the right track spurring him, the words flooding out.

“I needed to know,” He stumbles, heart pounding, “I needed to know I didn’t ruin Michael’s life. One person making one choice. I don’t regret it but I still felt guilty, like I had taken it away from him, some path that would have ended in a better place. But like you said, you would still be you and I would still be me, because of what I choose. Michael still would’ve ended up on a desk and I would be here and I’m happy just as the other me is happy.” Philipp finishes his thought process, something coming loose in his chest. 

He hadn’t made a mistake and he didn’t regret it because he was where he was supposed to be all along.

-

Michael leaves in the afternoon. 

"Take care of yourself, Philipp." He says, standing soberly in front of the doorway, much like he had been when he arrived. Philipp has one more question to part with his ghosts, figuring it would be his last chance, the odds of such a strange encounter repeating itself didn't seem likely. 

"Do you ever miss it," They meet eyes, his amused and Philipp swallows down the embarrassment, knowing even he missed being out on the pitch as he watched the new names overtake the old faces. He stuck through it, watching as the amusement gave way to thoughtfulness. Micha, beyond the looks and brash tendencies, had always had a sharp mind. He would fool the foolish and keep the rest at bay. Philipp hadn't wanted to play that game, wanted to dig deeper to the honest parts without realizing there was a give and take to that endeavor. 

"Not most days, it's surprising how much I don't miss it. Although, It's been a much longer time for me than for you." Philipp extends a hand out, satisfied with the answer, contemplating the last part.

Michael takes it, the final line crossed. Nothing otherworldly happens, but Philipp smiles. It wasn't any different from the dozens of handshakes before. 

When the door is shut and locked, Philipp scrolls through his contacts on his phone, thumb hovering over the number he hadn't thought about since it had been put in by a strangely exasperated Bastian a few years back. He hadn't deleted it because it could've proven to be useful at some point, like now, for example.

He paces the foyer once, twice, and a couple more times, before going into the kitchen. There were still two mugs in the sink. 

He gathers up his resolve, taps the screen before holding the phone up to his ear.

It takes an eternity before he clears his throat, "It's Philipp."

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The 2005 interview: "This is my last contract, I just want time to be certain about where I want to end my career and which road I'm taking in my life. My heart is with Bayern Munich. That's the reason I didn't say goodbye long ago." Basically, AR Micha rethought the 'where' of his retirement and chose to come back circa winter 2011.
> 
> 2\. Fips almost went to Barcelona in 2008 if the transfer rumours are to be believed. AR Fips was already in a relationship with Micha by then and had to renegotiate and come clean with Bayern. So when the 2010 Scandal came out, they were already prepared. His contract was extended to 2012 hence the "they could still kick us out."
> 
> 3\. Speaking of 2010, Micha still ends up injured from the FA Cup final, and goes for moral support to the NT. The captaincy fight is more subdued. Jogi and Micha still have words, but Fips intervenes before it gets to the "your time with the NT is done, Ballack" stage. So he does, in fact, get to play those two games to get 100 caps.
> 
> 4\. The Christian Lell, Dani, Micha affair scandal was an actual thing. Lell was accused of hitting his ex-gf. Dani is the same Dani Basti went out with in the early 2000s and apparently, she filed a police report against him in 2014. Lell never came out with details but said: "Not everyone is like Michael Ballack, who believes, that he can do whatever he wants, who just enters into the private lives of others and destroys everything, without thinking much about it - but maybe when you are the Germany captain that's how you think."
> 
> 5\. I couldn't resist giving Bayern more trophies, I also hand-waved the PR mafia conversation that AR Fips was subjected to, but I like to believe that he was under the impression if he didn't win at least a UCL title as captain, they would terminate his contract. So he did it, and then did it again to prove he could do it without the threat over his head. I know, super hard, it's fiction and I'm Bayern til I die. 
> 
> 6\. I somewhat left it ambiguous on the Claudia front because I couldn't exactly write her and Julian off because Fips is /such/ a dad and its a part of his core character in this universe. So think what you will on that. If you feel particularly put-out by the teaser ending just remember this glorious [moment](http://anja-mittags.tumblr.com/post/140591493929)
> 
> I know they're pretty out of character, but it is a little more into the future, like five years out from current time and Micha is from a parallel universe where he could be himself, is in a stable committed relationship and managed his failings much better.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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